


May We Meet Again

by stealing-jasons-job (changingthefairy_tale)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Historical, Bellarke, Body Swap, Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge, Enemies to Allies to ???, F/M, First Kiss, Meet-Ugly, Spies, assassin!clarke, cold war au, competing businesses, spy!bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25101262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy both show up to assassinate the same Soviet scientist, Dr. Turgnev. But when Bellamy realizes that Clarke is the KGB assassin Wanheda, he starts to question why the USSR would want to assassinate their own scientist. Things aren't what they seem, and Clarke and Bellamy will end up having to work together after Turgnev escapes both of their clutches.**Written as part of Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge for 3.0 Round 1**
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Raven Reyes, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Clarke Griffin & Emori
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56
Collections: Chopped 3.0 Round 1





	May We Meet Again

_1800 hours, Nov. 16, 1954, Obninsk, Soviet Union_

“I should have said no to this assignment.” 

Raven just rolls her eyes, not looking up from her task of getting the satellite phone set up to contact Langely. “Yeah, I’m sure the CIA would have taken that gracefully.” 

He gives a short snort, shivering in front of the fireplace. The CIA has a kommunalka, a communal apartment, that they use to host temporary operations. At any given time, up to three different operations ongoing in Obninsk might use the place. Thankfully, they are currently alone. 

The first thing they had done was light a fire, but the apartment is still almost unbearably cold. Though Washington D.C. grows cold in the winters, it’s nothing compared to the freezing temps in this Soviet hellhole. 

“It’s not just the temperatures bothering you, Blake. I’m going to be stuck in your ear the next 24 hours, so you might as well spit it out now.” 

When he and Raven were first paired up as operative and handler, he knew it was going to spell trouble for him. They’d been friends throughout training at The Farm, both with similar backgrounds at home, both trying to make a difference after the fallout of the war. 

Their familiarity and her ability to read him has saved his life more than once in an op, but dammit, she knows him too well. 

“I always hate these ops,” he finally admits, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can’t even really call it an op. It’s an assassination. 

And even though the target in question is certainly breaking every ethical and moral rule in the book with these experiments, even though people have died at his hands, it’s hard to justify him ending his life in turn.

Send someone to get it done, sure. Bellamy is a patriot, he understands the dangers that the USSR could pose with this doctor’s research, understands the need for him to be eliminated, even. He just wishes someone else could pull the trigger. 

But that’s not the kind of man Bellamy is, the kind of operative. He was good at his job, and he could put aside his personal feelings in order to accomplish the task at hand. 

He’s one of Langely’s best operatives, and he’ll handle this mission the same way he would any other. Then he’ll fly home, hug his sister, and move on with his life.

They are able to contact DC with their status, immediately turning off the connection and hiding the phone. From here on out, there’s no external communication. Should they be burned, the US will deny their existence to prevent an international incident. The threat of mutual destruction only goes so far, and the US can’t be caught meddling in Soviet affairs. 

Luckily, Raven was able to swipe some of the latest tech for this mission. So armed with his trusty MAC Mle pistol, a new, wireless earpiece and a cigarette package camera (despite the fact that he does not smoke) to document the doctor’s research, Bellamy is locked and loaded. 

The plan is simple. The doctor’s lab is near downtown Obninsk. Bellamy will wait for him to leave, he’ll make the hit look like a mugging gone wrong, Bellamy will then collect intel from the lab, and then they’ll be on a flight back stateside before anyone even IDs the doctor. 

Of course, Bellamy’s never been the kind of person to have plans go off without a hitch. 

___ 

Raven is back at the safe house, and Bellamy is posted across the street from the warehouse where Dr. Turgenev has set up his lab. It’s late, and Bellamy is confident Turgenev is the last one there if his intel on who works with him and who has already left is correct. 

Bellamy catches movement out of the corner of his eye, but when he tries to fixate on what he saw, the coast remains clear. 

“I think I clocked someone on the roof of the warehouse,” he mutters to Raven over comms. 

“Could have just been security… or a bird,” Raven’s voice crackles into his ear. He ignores her sarcasm. 

“I think I’m going to go check it out. I doubt the US is the only government after his research, and if China or Japan gets their hands on it…” 

“Remember, you get caught, and you’re dead. Not to mention it may turn this Cold War into something a bit more toasty.” 

“Understood.” He can tell by her tone that she wants him to stay put. But that’s never been something he’s excelled at, and he knows he saw _something._

He makes his way around the back end of the warehouse, sneaking in through a window with an aptly placed dumpster underneath. Bellamy tries not to think about what could potentially be in the dumpster. 

Once inside, he’s startled by what he sees. From the outside, the warehouse looks old, decrepit. But the scene before Bellamy looks more like a state-of-the-art medical facility. The open floorplan doesn’t give him much coverage, but most of the outer lights are turned off inside with it being so late. He stays ducked behind wooden crates, doing his best to take photos with the cigarette package camera. 

If there was any doubt that this lab was anything but Soviet-funded, this proves otherwise. There’s no way a private citizen or even a company could fund such a site. Fuck, that likely means there’s additional security somewhere within the building to watch over Turgenev. 

Bellamy creeps closer, looking around to see if there’s anyone else in the building. Aside from the doctor, who is humming something chipper as he mills about the lab, he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

The lab itself is unlike anything Bellamy’s ever seen before. Don’t get him wrong, Langley is home to some impressive technology, some of it ethical and some of it questionable. But even the most advanced medical equipment Bellamy has seen pales in comparison to the layout in front of him. A glass chamber is the centerpiece of the room, piping running from it to the ceiling and God knows where. 

Microscropes, IMB 650 computers, and other medical equipment is set up in stations surrounding the chamber. Bellamy didn’t want to think about the things that happened within those four glass walls. 

“Make any noise, and you’re finished.” A distinctly feminine voice whispers from behind him. A knife’s cool edge lays at the side of his throat where his carotid pumps under his skin. 

The fact that she’s being so quiet herself tells him that the owner of the knife doesn’t want to be caught any more than he does. He lifts his hands in the air, deciding to bide his time. 

“Americans, always so loud and clumsy. It’s like you’re trying to get caught,” she huffs in arrogant annoyance. To the untrained ear, she’d sound American herself, but there’s a slight underlying accent. She must be Soviet. 

“You’re the one making noise now, Princess,” he whispers back, irritation at her tone already blooming in his chest. That earns him a swift blow to the back of the head, the knife never leaving its spot at his neck. 

The blow tells him she’s close, and he makes the split-second decision to use that to his advantage. In the blink of an eye, he’s ducked away and under the arm holding the knife, grabbing her wrist and twisting. He brings her to the ground beneath him, one hand at her throat and the other holding her knife hand hostage against the cold floor. 

“So the CIA sends their best to what, snoop about Turgenev’s lab and steal his findings for themselves? ” Her eyes spark with amusement, despite the fact that he has her pinned.

“The hell is going on in there, Blake?” Raven’s voice crackles through his earpiece again. He doesn’t answer, simply staring at the woman laying before him. 

She’s breathtakingly beautiful, blonde hair and striking blue eyes. His tanned skin against her throat is a stark contrast, and he feels the attraction hit him like a punch in the gut. He pushes that train of thought to the side instantly. _Not the time_ , he thinks to himself wryly. 

She doesn’t seem to be at all concerned with their switched position, not even trying to get out of the hold. Instead, she just raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Not even a denial that you’re CIA? Maybe they didn’t send their best after all.” She’s teasing him at this point, and he kicks himself for having to think for a moment to remember what she even asked in the first place. 

“Will someone tell me what in the actual fuck is going on?!” Raven practically shouts in his ear. 

“I think that ship has sailed given your current position, wouldn’t you say?” he comments to blondie on the ground, who just cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, we have company,” he says to Raven. 

“Do you have it under control?” 

But before he can answer her, the blonde on the ground catches him by surprise. With the bridge of her hips and a move with her legs that Bellamy can’t even fully register, she switches their position. Now he’s the one pinned to the ground, the knife once again at his throat. 

“So, what exactly does the US government want with Turgenev?” she questions, her face switching to a menacing glare. Bellamy matches her stare, equally impressed and pissed that this woman who was only half his size was able to pull such a maneuver. 

After a moment of silence, there is a crash from across the room. The woman’s eyes never leave his, still narrowed in suspicion. But with a sigh, she mutters something in Russian that sounds suspiciously like _zhizn’ ebet meya._ Under different circumstances, her obvious frustration would actually be quite endearing, Bellamy thinks. 

“I don’t have time for this. I’m sorry for the headache in advance,” she says with an almost apologetic expression. But before he can question what she means, a blow to the temple knocks him out cold. 

___ 

When he finally comes to, it’s to the sound of Raven calling his name. And a piercing headache. Bellamy winces as he massages his temple where he was hit. Damn Soviet. 

“Blake, come in. Do you copy? I swear to God if you’ve gotten yourself killed—” 

  
“I’m fine, Raven. Just a...complication.” Before he can elaborate, he’s interrupted by yelling across the warehouse. 

“How dare you come after me, after everything I’ve done for this country!” Turgnev’s voice ricochets off the high ceilings. 

Bellamy creeps closer, trying to focus on the altercation going on across the room. 

“I need to know what else you were working on, Dr. Turgnev.” It’s the blond woman who knocked him out. The situation has Bellamy confused — if she’s Soviet, why is she coming after Turgnev? And why was she so insistent on being stealthy earlier if she was just planning to barge in and start asking questions? 

Turgnev is pacing back and forth, fidgeting in panic. The woman stood there calmly, arms crossed in front of her. 

The closer he gets to the scene, still staying hidden as possible, he sees a scattering of bodies on the floor — three in total. From the looks of it, the woman had incapacitated them. 

“I’m only working on the research sanctioned by the USSR, I swear,” he pleads with her, hands raised in front of him. The blonde seems unaffected by his pleas, simply nodding as she walks closer to him. The man looks absolutely terrified, almost trembling as she approaches. 

“You know who I am, yes?” He nods, looking down. But a slim pointer finger under his chin redirects his gaze to meet hers. “Then you know why I am here.” 

" _Wanheda_ ,” Turgnev whispers. And suddenly it all makes sense. 

There was a myth in the spy community around the world, rumors of the infamous Wanheda. The legendary Soviet assassin, with more kills under her belt than any other KGB operative. Most thought she was just a fictitious character, a ghost story invented by the Soviets to incite fear in the hearts of both allies and enemies to the USSR. Guess those stories were more fact than fiction. 

So then the question becomes why the Soviets would be after their own asset, their own scientist. 

“Raven,” he whispers. “There is more to this than Langley knows. I’m going to take Turgnev in for questioning.” 

“Bad idea, Blake.” Her tone is disapproving, but Bellamy doesn’t pay attention to it. He knows in his gut something else is going on here, and he intends to get to the bottom of it. 

He reaches for his gun, thankful that she seems not to have checked his ankle holster. 

“I’m not going to ask you again,” the woman says, knife drawn to his throat not unlike she had held it to Bellamy earlier. Her hand is clenched around that knife, knuckles white, ready to strike with the flick of the wrist.

But he can’t let her do that, not before he gets answers about what exactly Turgnev was doing and why even his own government was turning against him. 

Bellamy steps out of the shadows, stepping closer with his gun drawn. “But the knife down, Princess.” 

Her eyes flicker toward him, but her hand remains steady against Turgnev’s neck. She’s eerily calm, detached. But the hardened facade can’t hide the war obviously going on behind her eyes. Almost as if she’s tortured by this act, conflicted about what to do. 

_She’s a cold-blooded killer, Bellamy._ He reminds himself, refocusing on the task at hand rather than the intriguing stranger before him. 

“Walk away, _shpion_ ,” she bites out, not moving a muscle. “No one else has to die tonight.” 

“Afraid I can’t do that, Princess,” he says, slowly inching closer. 

“Is this where you tell me that the Americans didn’t send you here to complete the same mission?” 

He considers lying, the logical side of his brain tells him doing anything else is a recipe for disaster. But something on her face has him admitting the truth. “No, but I’ve got my own questions I need answered. And I need him alive for that.” 

She presses the knife further into Turgnev’s throat, drawing droplets of blood as the edge digs into his skin. Turgnev cries out in pain. 

“ _Yu gonplei ste odon._ ” Bellamy doesn’t recognize the language, but there’s a finality to the words that causes panic to rise up in his throat. He aims his gun and shoots just right of where the woman is standing in warning. 

Her wide eyes turn their attention on him. She obviously did not think he’d actually shoot. 

“Please don’t make me hurt you,” he begs, gun raised and aimed at her this time. 

“You don’t understand,” she almost whispers. There’s that war still going on in those blue eyes, calling out to something unexplainable in Bellamy’s chest. 

“Then make me. Drop the knife, and make me understand.” 

For one electrified moment, it looks like perhaps she’s going to listen to him. But Turgnev takes the opportunity while she’s distracted and turns the knife on her. There is a quick struggle, the petite assassin struggling against Turgnev’s size compared to her small frame. 

Bellamy doesn’t fire his gun, not wanting to hit either target fatally. 

She gets in a few good blows, but then Turgnev lodges the knife into her side. She cries out, and Turgnev gives her a firm kick. She crashes into the chamber, breaking the glass and falling into the shards on the floor. 

As soon as she’s clear of him, Bellamy fires a shot at Turgnev. It hits him in the shoulder, but doesn’t prohibit the scientist from sprinting toward the exit, pulling on a lever Bellamy assumes is the lock to leave on the wall as he goes. All of Bellamy’s training tells him to leave the assassin and go after Turgnev, but his feet carry him over to where she’s lying against the glass-covered raised platform instead. 

“You’re letting him get away, you idiot,” she hisses at him, clutching at her side. Blood is oozing from the wound, making a growing wet spot in her black fitted sweater. 

“If we don’t stop the bleeding, you’re going to die,” he ignores her. She shakes her head, trying to stand. Glass shards and a black-ish liquid cover her hands, and her face is marred with a few scratches and the same liquid. He hopes she hasn’t spilled some chemical all over her. 

“I’ll be fine, but Turgnev cannot get away.” She continues to struggle to keep her balance as she gets to her feet, leaning on Bellamy. But before she gets all the way up, a blue-hued gas cascades around them from the pipes that were connected to the chamber before it shattered. 

They both collapse back to the floor, coughing as the gas meets their lungs. 

“What... is… this?” he asks between coughs. His eyes were watering, and he was growing dizzy. 

“The chamber...Turgnev’s experiments… he must have… pulled…” but she trails off before she can finish, slumping against the floor. Bellamy crawls over to her, putting pressure on her wound and trying to check for a pulse. 

“Raven, do you copy? I need backup. Turgnev —” 

But it’s only a few seconds before the haziness overtakes him, and he drops to the floor beside her. 

___

  
  


“Blake. Wake up, come on. I can’t carry you out of here, I need you to wake up.” 

Bellamy is groggy as he comes back into consciousness. He has a splitting headache, and a searing pain in his side. When he opens his eyes, he expects to see Raven hovered over him, but she’s not in his immediate view. 

He tries to shift upright, but that pain in his side prevents him from making it all the way into a sitting position. 

As his eyes refocus on his surroundings, he sees Raven crouched next to… his body. 

Wait. 

Panicking, Bellamy takes stock of his own limbs. The skin is pale, hands slim, dainty, and covered in that blackish liquid. He lifts his hands to his hair, and it’s longer than it should be. 

What the actual fuck… 

“Raven?” the voice that comes out is melodic, feminine. _Her voice._

“How do you know my name?” she demands harshly, twisting away from Bellamy’s limp body to glare at him. 

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but… it’s me.” 

Her eyes narrow in that mix of confusion and annoyance that she has perfected to a science. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, lady.” 

“No, it’s me. Bellamy.” Her eyes widen in response, looking back and forth between the two. God, he sounds crazy even to himself, and he’s living this nightmare. “Bellamy Blake. Agent Tango-Delta-1-0-1. You are Raven Reyes. Agent Tango-Foxtrot-1-0-2.” 

She still doesn’t look convinced, but before she can react the other body, _his body_ , starts to stir. 

“ _Kakogo cherta_?” he hears himself, or rather his body, mutter. He watches as his body shoots into an upright position, studying hand and arms before looking around. 

“Blake, what the hell happened here? And why does blondie know our agent codes?” Raven asks Bellamy’s body. Suddenly it clicks. Turgnev’s research, the blue gas… they’ve been body-swapped. 

“The gas —” Bellamy starts. 

“I don’t recall asking you,” Raven snaps before turning back to Bellamy’s body. 

Bellamy’s body, now presumably the Soviet, looks at Bellamy — _at herself_ — with wide eyes. 

  
“This is your fault!” Bellamy hears his own voice accuse him. 

“How is this my fault?!” he nearly shouts back. 

“If you had just gone after him like I told you, he never would have pulled that stupid lever!” she shouts back. It was weird, being yelled at essentially by himself. 

“Excuse me for trying to save your life, Princess,” he tries once again to sit up, but the stabbing pain in his abdomen makes the edges of his vision blur. He thinks he sees her eyes soften at that, but an invisible wall goes up back in a split second. 

“Well, now look who’s bleeding out?” 

“Okay, someone please tell me what the hell is going on,” Raven interrupts their arguing, looking concernedly between the two of them. The KGB agent in Bellamy’s body hits her with a harsh glare. 

“What’s going on is that your partner ruined an operation, and now I have to find Turgnev before he tells the Soviets I was here,” she says, gesturing indignantly at Bellamy as she stands up. 

Raven just blinks at her, letting those words sink in. 

“Blake?” She asks incredulously, looking back over at the body Bellamy is currently inhabiting. 

“Tried to tell you, Reyes.” 

He’s about to make another quip, but then he sees his body make its way toward the door — presumably to start tracking Turgnev. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Princess,” he calls out, pushing past the immense pain to stand up. Bellamy cries out in pain. Hearing her own voice must be distressing, because the KGB agent pauses from leaving.

“We’ve got to call this in,” Raven mutters, moving to his side to assess the wound. He stops her, instead keeping his own hand pressed to the shirt. 

“And tell Langley what? That one of their operatives is stuck in a KGB agent’s body, and that agent needs an emergency evac for medical treatment?” Raven just hits him with one of her looks that says shut up. 

“I’ll do it,” Bellamy’s voice breaks through the silence of Raven’s stare. “What?” the spy in Bellamy’s body asks defensively when they both give her a look. “I’m trained in medicine, and we’re in a medical lab. We’re not taking me to a hospital, and I’m not going to let you bleed out in my body.” 

“Fair enough.” She makes a valid point. They scrounge around for the needed materials, and Bellamy lays down on one of the cleared tables for her to patch him up. 

She pulls the material of her shirt, now Bellamy’s, up to expose the wound. Bellamy is surprised to see the blackish liquid he’d assumed was a chemical in the lab was oozing from the wound. 

“Your blood,” he murmurs, looking at her. She’s avoiding his gaze, instead preparing the wound and getting a needle ready. 

“Yes, my blood is black instead of red. Now shut up so I can concentrate,” she says dismissively. The subject obviously isn’t up for discussion, and him and Raven just exchange looks. 

When she threads the needle through his skin for the first stitch, he hisses in pain. She glances at him with a little sympathy, but continues sewing the wound shut without hesitation. 

“Bellamy.” 

“Huh?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“My name. It’s Bellamy. I figure you’ve got your hands covered in my blood, so we should probably be on a first name basis.” 

“Technically, your hands are covered in my blood,” she says, but there’s a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Clarke.” Bellamy feels himself giving her a smile of his own, but then she pulls tight on one of the stitches and he lets out a string of muttered profanities. 

“You couldn’t have used some anesthesia?” Raven asks harshly. 

“I could have, but it wouldn’t have helped. Anesthesia doesn’t work on me,” she says as she wraps up the final stitch. “Plus, I’m just about done.” 

“Anesthesia doesn’t work on you? How is that possible?” Raven questions. 

“It just is,” Clarke responds brusquely. It’s a tone he’s used plenty of times himself, and Raven must recognize it because she drops her line of questioning. “Okay, it’ll hold for now. Once we track down Turgnev and switch back, I’ll have a friend take a better look at it.” 

“We?” 

“I assumed you wouldn’t let me go alone,” she raises her eyebrows at him, and he can’t help but chuckle. 

“Sorry,” he says at the look he gives her. “It’s just weird seeing that facial expression on my face.” 

She cracks a smirk at him, shaking her head a little. 

“Hate to break up the spy bonding here, but there is the small issue of you guys _swapping bodies_ ,” Raven interjects, gesturing between the two. 

“I assume one of you has a sat phone somewhere? I can change the frequency to call Emori. She’ll be able to help,” Clarke says. 

“We’re not calling in another Soviet spy to—” 

“She’s not KGB. She’s a friend.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Bellamy responds, crossing his hands over his chest. 

“Look,” she sighs, leveling him with an irked look. “She knows Turgnev’s research better than anyone. Do you _want_ to stay body swapped?” 

“Fine. Raven, do you have the portable sat phone extension with you?” She nods and pulls off her backpack. 

Clarke calls this Emori person, talking in what sounds like that same weird language Bellamy’s never heard before. It feels weird to hear it in his voice. But once she’s off the sat phone, they gather their things to leave. 

“She’ll be here soon, and she should be able to help you reverse engineer the gas to undo the switch… hopefully,” Clarke tells Raven. 

“Hopefully?” Raven scoffs. Clarke just rolls her eyes, not responding. 

Bellamy and Clarke head off in search of Turgnev, promising Raven that they’d call the designated sat phone line from a payphone within three hours. 

Clarke points them in the direction of the nuclear plant on the outskirts of town. 

“Turgnev would take refuge near a nuclear power plant?” Bellamy asks, trailing after her. She’s moving quickly, and his body’s longer legs compared to her shorter ones make it harder for him to keep up with her. 

“No, but he’ll be on his way to the KGB headquarters there.” 

“Why would he want to seek shelter with the agency trying to kill him?” Bellamy is becoming more confused by the minute. The KGB going after their own scientist at their own facility, the experiments he’s performing… all of it. 

“Come on, we’ve got to catch a bus or we’ll never make it on time.” She doesn’t answer him, nodding toward an approaching bus at the stop up ahead. 

Bellamy feels a hand reach into his jacket pocket, coming out with a few kopeks. He gives her a fake affronted look at the brazen move, but she just shrugs at him. 

“It’s not like I’ve never stuck my hand in that pocket before,” she smirks at him, and he can’t help but laugh. The sound is just as melodic as her speaking voice, and he decides he loves the sound. 

She talks to the bus driver in Russian, slipping the coins into the holder. The driver nods, gesturing for them both to get on. 

Once they settle into their seats, they settle into silence. Bellamy finds he doesn’t mind it; it’s companionable in a way he rarely feels with strangers. But he’s also a bit on edge, constantly checking his surroundings. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Clarke says next to him, not even bothering to look away from the window. 

“I’m not fidgeting,” he shoots back defensively. She rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, you are. And you’re going to draw unwanted attention to us if you’re not careful.” 

With a sigh, Bellamy forces himself to relax and keep his eyes forward.

“So what was the language you spoke with your friend? It didn’t sound like any Russian dialect I’ve ever heard?” she tenses just a fraction at the question, but Bellamy still catches it. 

“That’s because it’s not a Russian dialect.” She doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t feel like she would even if he prodded further. So instead he stays quiet until they reach their stop, her nudging his elbow to get off. 

She sticks to the shadows, creeping up on the facility. 

“So what exactly is your plan here, Princess?” Bellamy asks in a whisper. She doesn’t answer, just creeping forward. “Why would Turgnev head to the KGB headquarters if they are the ones trying to kill him?” Still silence. “ _Hey._ ” 

At that, Clarke turns around and pushes Bellamy through the doorway. The fact that Bellamy no longer has the physical advantage means there isn’t much he can do aside from be dragged into the abandoned building. 

His own forearm is pressed against his throat and his face is menacing above him. 

“The KGB isn’t trying to kill him,” she grits her teeth. He’s taken aback by that statement. “And Turgnev’s probably guessed that by now, and if he makes it through that door I’ll be dead.” 

Bellamy studies her, or well, he studies himself. There’s genuine fear in the eyes staring back at him, the first time he’s seen that particular emotion expressed by Clarke. 

“Fine. Let’s stake him out, and we’ll grab him before he can make it.” Clarke nods, stepping back. 

They wait in the shadows. Though they took the bus, something Clarke swears Turgnev would never do because of paranoia, they couldn’t be too far ahead of him. 

And sure enough, he shuffles around the corner within fifteen minutes. As he approaches their hiding spot in that abandoned building, Clarke reaches out to pull him through. 

There’s a quick struggle, but between the two of them, it’s over quickly. Clarke has a knife to his neck within seconds. 

“You scream, you die,” she warns in Bellamy’s deep voice. 

“ _Wanheda_ ,” Turgnev addresses Clarke, despite the fact that it’s Bellamy’s face looming over him. Bellamy briefly wonders how Turgnev even knows about Wanheda. She’s more myth than reality in the eyes of Langley, the infamous assassin whose face no one has ever seen and lived to share. 

“I said be quiet,” she threatens. 

“You’re Wanheda? Why does Wanheda want Turgnev dead?” Bellamy asks, confused. The scientist’s eyes flicker over to him standing a few feet behind Clarke. 

“You didn’t tell him?” he asks. 

“ _Molchi_ ,” she presses the knife deeper into this throat, and he laughs. 

“Tell me what, Clarke?” Bellamy demands. When she doesn’t respond, he pulls out his gun and points it to the back of his own head. She tenses. 

“You can’t kill me or you’re dead, too,” she reminds him, voice thick with emotion. He can tell she’s barely keeping it together. This is personal for her. 

“Maybe so, but I can’t let you kill him without some answers.” 

“You want some answers? Fine. Turgnev, why don’t you tell him about the experiments you ran on little girls in the trikru village in Ukraine huh?” she presses the knife even deeper, red droplets of blood forming on the blade. “Why don’t you tell him about my father trying to stop those experiments, and being murdered for it by the USSR?” 

“The Soviet’s killed your father?” 

“My father was Jakob Grifon, the highest-ranking general in WWII. He tried to put a stop to the program, but Turgnev was promising the KGB a formula for unbeatable assassins, soldiers who could withstand nuclear fallout.” Her voice is shaking at this point, and Bellamy reaches out to steady her with a hand on the shoulder. 

“The experiments worked, didn’t they?” Turgnev says smugly, and Clarke’s eyes — Bellamy’s eyes — go dark. In the blink of an eye, she swipes the blade across his throat. 

“No!” Bellamy calls out, but it’s too late. Turgnev slumps down against the wall. 

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” she says. “It’s over.” 

“I needed him alive, Clarke. I needed answers!” 

“Well, I needed him to pay for what he’s done!” she hisses back at him. This couldn’t just be about her father. Turgnev’s research may have caused his death, but Clarke was acting as if he had personally been the one to kill him. 

Then he remembers what the scientist had said just before Clarke killed him. _The experiments worked, didn’t they?_

The dots are starting to connect in Bellamy’s mind. The myth of Wanheda, the KGB’s secret weapon. A ghost, untraceable, unbeatable. 

“They experimented on you,” he says finally. Clarke slumps to the ground, from the physical or emotional exhaustion Bellamy didn’t know. 

“That’s why my blood is black. It wasn’t enough to just punish my father, no. They had to make an example of him. The Soviet government is not to be questioned. So they took me and turned me into Turgnev’s lab rat. They pumped me full of some chemical, then tested me with radiation doses over and over again. For months.” 

Bellamy was horrified, he raised his own hand up in front of his face, studying the now-dried black blood. 

“Were you the only one?” 

She shook her head. “I’m one of two survivors, but no. I’m not the only one to be experimented on. They still don’t know why exactly my body was able to accept the transfusions and then synthesize radiation... “ she pauses, looking at Turgnev’s body on the ground. “And now they never will.” 

Bellamy reaches out a hand to help Clarke stand up. 

“And now they never will,” he agrees. 

They look at each other for a long moment, studying each other. He feels drawn to her in a way he’s never quite felt before. Something about her spirit or her soul calls to his own. Maybe it’s just the effects of the body swap… but something tells him that isn’t it. 

They leave Turgnev for the KGB to find. Bellamy gives Clarke a confused look — why would she want the KGB to know he’s dead? 

“They created a monster… and I want them to know that monster is coming for him now.” 

Clarke and Bellamy walk side-by-side through the streets of Obninsk. It’ll be about an hour walk back to the lab, but neither of them make a move to catch a bus. 

After a bit of silence, Bellamy reaches out Clarke’s hand to take his own. She jumps a little at the contact, looking over to meet his eyes. 

“You’re not a monster.” She nods after a beat, not responding otherwise. But doesn’t drop their intertwining hands the entire way back. 

Once they reach the lab, Raven and Emori are waiting for them. Emori is a young woman, not much younger than he or Clarke if he had to guess. Emori rushes over, looking between the two of them. 

“Is em odon?” she asks at last, looking up at Clarke in Bellamy’s body. She nods back, and Emori sighs in relief. 

She has a tattoo swirling up the side of his face, and one of her arms is in a sleeved glove. 

Another puzzle piece falls into place. The language, Clarke’s connection to her, the mention of the Ukrainian village. 

“You’re the other survivor.” 

“Emori,” she introduces herself, holding out her non-gloved hand for him to shake. 

Once pleasantries are exchanged, Raven tells them to stand under the gas pipes that originally caused the switch. 

“Emori is a genius,” Raven says, obviously in awe of the other woman. “Between her chemistry knowledge and my mechanical skills, we were able to reverse engineer it with an antidote. 

Clarke and Bellamy stand facing each other under the pipes. 

“See you on the other side,” he says, smirking. The last thing he sees before he passes out again is her smiling back at him. 

When he wakes up, a pair of blue eyes and a waterfall of short blonde hair is hovering over him. 

_It worked._

“Princess,” he acknowledges, giving her a soft smile to match her own. She really was beautiful. 

“We’ve got an evac coming in less than five to the roof. We gotta get going; Murphy said he wouldn’t wait,” Raven says, interrupting the moment. Bellamy clears his throat and Clarke backs away from him so he can stand. 

“Do we have his notes?” he asks Raven, and she tosses him a small cassette. He pockets it. 

Clarke stops him as they are leaving, “I can’t let you take those, Bellamy. You have to know that.” 

“I promise they won’t fall into the wrong hands,” he assures her. She doesn’t look fully convinced, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she leans in and kisses him. 

Her mouth is soft on his, and it only takes him a moment before he responds. His hands thread through her hair, and he pulls her close. 

It’s the best first kiss of his life. 

“What was that for?” he asks, pulling away. She just shrugs, giving him a small smile. 

“In case I don’t see you again.” 

“I have a feeling we’ll meet again,” he smirks at her. She laughs, letting him go. 

Him and Raven board the chopper, flying high above the city as fast as they can. Raven shoots him a smug look, but he doesn’t quite meet her gaze. Instead, his fingers graze his lips as he looks out the window. 

It’s not until they are halfway back to the airfield to catch their plane home that he realizes the tape with Turgnev’s notes is missing from his pocket. She must have stolen them when she kissed him. He shakes his head smiling. 

_May we meet again_ , he thinks to himself. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Any and all feedback is appreciated. <3 UPDATE: I'll be editing this (it wasn't beta'd the first time through), and then continuing the story since so many people have asked for a sequel! I appreciate you all.   
> \---  
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr @changingthefairy-tale!


End file.
